


Is Your Heart Still Beating?

by never_wanted_to_dance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Fallen Angels, Human Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Nightmares, Strong Language, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/never_wanted_to_dance/pseuds/never_wanted_to_dance
Summary: Castiel learns what it means to be human - slowly, painfully, exquisitely. Title from 'Human' by The Killers.





	Is Your Heart Still Beating?

**1.**

The carpet was sticky. The sort of long-term, thick, solid stickiness that came with a motel who paid its housekeeping staff way less than its window-repair team. Castiel winced as he lifted a shoe from it gingerly, trying his best to avoid looking too closely at the surfaces as they entered. This was far from the worst place they’d ever slept, but it wasn’t exactly his first choice – 2am rugaru hunting in Rosby, Montana didn’t exactly open up the whole world of 5-star options though, either location-wise or financially, and so they settled for the somewhat questionable luxuries of Mercury Motel off of route 2.

Dean seemed blissfully unaffected by his surroundings, however, striding forwards and making a beeline for the bathroom as he flung his pack onto the nearest bed. He paused at the threshold, leaning heavily on the doorframe with the barest of grimaces. Cas met his gaze, taking in his ripped shirt and dark under-eyes. It had been a long few days for all.

“You don’t mind if I grab first shower? Sam will wanna go over the victim’s next of kin soon, and I can’t face that shit without at least a rub down and a burger of some sort.”

“No, of course not.” Cas shook his head, shrugging off his own bag and jacket onto a dusty armchair near the battered kitchenette. “If he drops by I’ll let him know that you won’t be long.”

“Thanks man. Maybe see if they have any takeout menus at reception?” Dean spun around, peeling his broken outer shirt away as he did so, and Cas froze.

“Dean, is that blood yours?”

The blood was aggressively red, and fresh – too fresh. The light grey Henley Dean had probably grabbed blindly out of his duffle a good 26 hours ago was absolutely flooded with various dark stains with various dubious origins, but mostly overtaken by a stream of scarlet from the back of Dean’s neck, seeping downwards into the thick fabric until it spread like the roots of a tree, spidering out with a disgusting beauty. Cas felt bile rising in his throat, another painfully new human sensation to add to the countless others he’d recently come to learn were associated with seeing his friends in states of danger and general disarray.

“Huh?” Dean felt absently at the back of his neck, coming up with a stained palm. “Ah, man. I liked this shirt.” He looked back over his shoulder and started a little, clearly shocked to see Cas’s expression. “Hey, it’s not. I mean, it’s probably not? I don’t think so, don’t worry about it.” He half-smiled, exhaustion dulling his eyes as he arranged his features into a mask of okay-ness. Cas hated how familiar it was. “Won’t be long.”

And with that, the door slammed, leaving Cas alone in the dank double room, heart still racing and mind torn through with worry. It had been so much easier when- but no. There was no point in dwelling, Sam had said to him. No point in thinking about the days not so long ago when he could have seen through his friend’s false assertions with a click of his fingers. When they’d have been home six hours earlier because he didn’t have to skulk around the woods in the dark like any common beast. When Dean didn’t have to deal with the pain for more than a few blinding, holy seconds of healing light.

The carpet was sticky, but the bed was soft and the room was quiet, and Cas sat down heavily. It was a process, Sam had said. Sam said a lot of things.

 

**2.**

It was an unusually warm day for March, and the bunker’s kitchen was positively glowing with light as the slim glimpses of ceiling-glass welcomed the early morning brightness in abundance. The radio was crackling through a rendition of an old John Denver song, the poor signal somehow adding to the overall homely effect of the scene ahead of him Cas thought, as he half-stumbled into the vast tiled room in search of something, _anything_ to lift the bleariness of a bad night’s sleep from his heavy eyelids.

A quick search of the nearest cupboard led him to Sam’s stash of plastic pods that fit into the overly-complicated fancy coffee machine that Jody had gifted them recently (“Anything to get it out of my house, please god. I can’t stand the arguments over it anymore, and I don’t even know what a macchiato _is”_ ). He shoved one unceremoniously into the little slot at the top of the machine and pressed some buttons, feeling his fingers settle into the half-remembered muscle memory of new routine. It clicked into life, whirring quietly over the drifting music from the opposite counter.

“Morning!” Cas turned slowly, suppressing a yawn as Dean bounded into the room with a general aura of energy that should be illegal. “You making breakfast?”

Cas shifted slightly, nudging the cabinet door full of things that he definitely didn’t pay for shut with his foot guiltily. “Coffee.”

Dean snorted, immediately spotting the blue light on the machine behind him. “If that’s what you wanna call that crap, sure.” He stretched lazily as he sauntered by, shoulders rippling as the muscles in his back shifted, settling into place beneath his thin sleep t-shirt. _Trapezius. Levator scapulae. Rhomboid minor. Rhomboid major. Latissimus dorsi._ “You want some eggs?”

Cas snapped out of it. It was weird to try and remember the order in which he had reattached his best friend’s muscles on the ascent from hell, he reminded himself. That wasn’t normal behaviour. Nor was staring at the strip of skin which remained exposed, the tanned flesh mocking his staring eyes from across the room above Dean’s all-too-low waistband. “Yeah, thanks.”

The radio switched over to a song he didn’t know, but Dean whistled along absent-mindedly as he clanged pans and dishes together, putting ingredients together with well-practiced ease. “Sam should be back around 2, by the way.” He grabbed a handful of herb bottles from the stack near the stove and began sprinkling things into the mix. “Eileen says hi, she’s going to try and stop by soon.”

The coffee machine let out its cheery tinkle of notes, and Cas forced himself into a more vertical position. His left elbow groaned slightly at the shift, and he winced, rolling his own shoulders to try and dispel the uncomfortable sensation. Grabbing the cup from under the machine, he shuffled over to the table. _Brachialis. Biceps brachii. Ulnar nerve. Supinator._ He wasn’t too sure what a macchiato was either, but it felt good on his tongue, smoother than the black coffee that Dean seemed to run on. That was too sharp, too harsh, like a slap to his tonsils. He was slowly figuring out these things, tasting more than general concepts and savouring the sensations of food as well as emotions in his throat.

The eggs came clattering down onto the wooden surface in front of him on a blue plate, stacked high and clearly full of real butter. Cas shook his head almost imperceptibly, trying to focus on the colour contrasts. He preferred Dean’s cooking to Sam’s most of the time (although both were always preferable to his own), and the rising smell brought saliva to Cas’s mouth involuntarily. He looked up, catching Dean’s eye with a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

If he didn’t know better, he would swear that Dean’s cheeks flushed slightly pinker after that. If he did, he’d have blamed it on the heat from the stove.

 

 **3.**  

“Why isn’t it working?”

Sam shrugged, throwing the mouse down with thinly veiled frustration.

“I have no idea. It was fine yesterday, I was using it all afternoon.” He clicked a few more times in vain as Cas watched, tracking the movement of the cursor on the blank screen. “Might be time for a new one I suppose, we have had this a while.”

Dean looked up at Sam at that, putting down the newspaper he’d been scouring for news of unusual and upsetting happenings that they may need to potentially stick their noses into. “Surely we can just get it fixed?”

Sam shook his head, finally giving up on the impotent clicking and stepping back from where he’d been leaning over Cas’s shoulder. Cas noted the lessening of his body heat as he stepped back with a somewhat detached sense, somewhere deep inside. “Nah, I think it’s officially fucked. It’s fine, we have a few cards lying around that we can spread it over.”

Dean sighed, reaching for the chipped mug next to him. It was white, supposedly, but the amber glow of the lamps in the living area gave it a flat beige-ness. “I guess we need it.” He took a swig of whatever he’d poured for himself (Cas hated that he could no longer tell from across the room whether he was self-medicating at inappropriate times during the day), swallowing thickly. “Cas, maybe ease up on the pornhub visits dude, we can’t afford to keep replacing the electronics.”

Sam snorted, plucking his phone from his pocket as he sunk down into an armchair, and Cas was horrified to feel his own neck growing warm. He glared across the room, where Dean was not even looking his way, wishing the urge to ruffle his wings in indignation wasn’t still clinging desperately to his subconscious.

“Dean, how I spend my time online is none of your business. I have enough to be getting on with without wasting my time on rubbish like that. And besides, I know better than to click on the pop-ups.”

Dean grinned at that, finally looking over and meeting Cas’s gaze. “Easy way to avoid the pop-ups is to just stay away from ‘rubbish like that’ though, isn’t it? Mr technology all of a sudden over here, honestly.”

Cas set his jaw. “Yeah well, next time maybe remember to delete your bookmarks as well as your browsing history before you give me the laptop back, or I wouldn’t know where to find _that rubbish_ in the first place.”

Maybe it had been childish to wait until Dean had taken another drink to retort, he mused later, but it had definitely been worth it to hear the alarmingly loud noise Sam had made when his brother spat the contents of his drink all over him from two whole chairs away.

 

**4.**

Heat, everywhere. Searing pain, well beyond anything any human could have ever felt, surely, ripping through his very bones and stripping each nerve bare individually. The sky was light, too light – wasn’t it night-time? Or it had been, at least, when this started – back when he’d still been able to form words, and feel anything more than desperation.

The room was wavy with pain, the floor steeped in ink as he struggled to rise his head, and immediately stopped, overcome with horror as another wave of rawness shot through him, pulling his joints apart one by one. Cas opened his mouth, trying to scream but finding nothing, only thick, black blood creeping out through his teeth, choking him, pulling him under –

“Cas? Cas, fuck, wake up already.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. Dean stood over him, brows pulled together with – pain? _Concern._ Cas slowly felt his breathing begin to slow, the tension he hadn’t realised he was holding begin to seep out of his body. Dean didn’t let go of his shoulders until he was certain he wouldn’t bolt upwards, hands shaking slightly when he finally removed them. Cas missed their callused heat immediately, their fast-cooling imprints leaving a ten-fingered hole in his heart.

“Sorry – I woke you?”

Dean shook his head shakily, and sighed. “Stop apologising.” He sank down into the chair by Cas’s bed, running a hand through his already messy hair. _Worry. Stress._ “I was up anyway, heard you screaming from the bathroom.”

Okay, that was pretty far. Cas winced internally, shame overtaking him. “I thought – it’s just been a while.”

Dean’s brows were no happier as he stared back at him, eyes bright and steady. “Still the same dream?”

“Always.”

“Fuck.” He shook his head, sinking back into the chair a little as he stared at the ceiling. _Guilt?_   “I’m sorry Cas.”

“I’m not.” Dean looked over, meeting Cas’s eyes again as he propped himself up shakily onto his sweat-soaked pillows. “I’d do it again. I don’t care if I scream myself hoarse every night from now until the end of creation, I’d still fall all over again. Every time.”

Dean held his gaze remarkably steadily. “I know.” He sighed again though, still clearly not pleased, but recognising that Cas wasn’t exactly in the mood for a pity party. He tried though, a weak smile creeping onto his face. “Still, there are way more fun ways to scream yourself hoarse every night. Maybe you should try some of those instead sometime, see if it helps.”

Cas laughed weakly in spite of himself, dropping back onto the sheets with a pounding heartbeat and a harder-pounding head. Dean stood up, padding lightly across the carpeted floor with a daintiness that belied his substantial hunter’s frame. Cas watched him go, admiring the scarred back as it slunk away from him into the thick darkness of the hallway.

“Dean?”

He turned, concern rippling openly through his features once more. Cas had always wondered, even before becoming human, how somebody who wore his heart on his sleeve as freely as Dean Winchester had ever managed to lie to a single person in his life. “What?”

“Maybe I will.”

It was dark, yes, but Dean smiled properly then, Cas was sure of it, and it warmed his fraught nerves more than anything else could have.

 

**5.**

“Ha! Told ya.” Claire stood up triumphantly with the kind of confidence that only an 18-year old in their own home could possess. “You owe me, like four drinks and a 20 by now, Winchester.”

“Right, sure, I’ll put those on an IOU for when you can actually drink, sweetie.” Dean threw down the controller, flexing his fingers out from the cramped position they’d been in for the past half-hour. “How come you never try and rinse Cas at Mario Kart?”

“Er, because he’s actually good at it?” Claire shot back, placing her own controller down much more gently and jubilantly. “Plus you’re much more fun to annoy. You’re a sore loser, dude.”

Dean sputtered amusingly at that, turning pleadingly to Cas on the small sofa. “I’m not a bad loser! Tell her Cas!”

“She does have a point,” Jody chimed in from across the den, setting down her beer on a low side table next to him. “You’re not exactly known for your gracious behaviour after the monopoly incident, are you honey?”

Dean bristled physically at that, prickling next to Cas like a frightened cat. “Ah, screw you all. You know that Sam cheated, I’m not going through it again.” Their bare arms brushed close, and it was all Cas could do to not stare down at the freckled forearm where it rested so close to his own.

“I’m gonna go tell Alex that dinner’s ready,” Jody said in a pointed tone, nodding at Claire. “Try not to rile ‘em up anymore if you can help it.”

Claire just laughed, shaking out her long hair with a carefree glance up at her foster mother where she stood. “Not my fault they’re so sensitive.” She stood up as well though, all sinewy legs and elbows as she drew herself together. Cas wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel proud – but he did, nonetheless. She was beautiful, and so happy. It was a strange feeling, but one he was reluctant to let go of. “I’ll go see if Sam’s managed to find the plates, I don’t trust him and Eileen not to rearrange the whole damn kitchen again like last time.” She strode out after Jody, a mirror image of confidence and self-assurance.

The once-noisy room was quiet then, and Cas was suddenly very aware of his own breathing. Dean was still pouting, scrolling through his phone moodily in a semi-serious manner than would undoubtedly lighten as soon as Jody called them in for dinner.

Desire was not a new emotion. Cas was more than familiar with desire, the heat creeping up his back as his mind grew distracted and focused all at once, staring hungrily at something that he desperately wanted to get his hands on. No, angels could desire just as well as any human, and he’d had plenty of experience of it over the years, not least since meeting Dean Winchester. What was new though, and what was clawing at him now, was the inability to supress the physical sensations of desire. He’d never expected it to be so damn _literal,_ the tearing hunger he felt, or for it to make his vision cloud, his hand shake, his voice tremble. For his dick to be so damn interested in what he was thinking about at altogether inappropriate times, like in the middle of lunch in a family-oriented diner, or two hours into a six-hour stakeout – or crammed into a tiny two-person sofa with the object of this desire in their close friend’s house, about to have a lovely dinner with their entire extended family. That was new, and he felt it deeply, basely as Dean pocketed his phone and leant back, turning his head towards Cas leisurely with an easy smile.

“As long as you know I’m an excellent loser, Cas, that’s all that matters.” Dean’s eyes burned into his own like torches, guiding him home and lighting a highly inconvenient fire within him. Cas shifted, bringing their legs closer together. The flash of heat where their knees bumped suddenly together was like a spear sinking into him.

“I don’t know,” Cas replied, trying to get a hold on the shaky timbre of his voice. “I’ve known you to have something of a temper when you lose, if I’m honest.”

Dean rolled his eyes, laughing quietly, and Cas watched closely as he leant in closer, pupils widening. “You’ve never complained before, have you?” he returned, volume dropping as their heads grew ever closer. “And besides, it’s nothing on yours.”

Cas licked his lower lip, noticing the sudden dryness there, and enjoyed tracking Dean’s eyes as they watched him closely. “We should go to the table.”

“We have a few minutes before they miss us.” Dean whispered softly, closing the distance between them at last and sucking Cas’s lower lip into his own mouth, dryness be damned. Cas felt his eyes close, sweat pooling at his lower back, still overwhelmed by the newness of not only the sensation of desire, but the feeling of having it returned, reciprocated, fulfilled. They sunk together, melting into one on the cramped leather, stealing heartbeats before life crept back again, and Cas couldn’t help but smile into the kiss.

No, desire was not new, but this was, and he couldn’t wait for more of it.

                                                                                   


End file.
